On The Roof
by Brownish
Summary: Duchess Sandrilene relaxes. Mild Briar/Sandry/Daja/Tris.


There were rumours, of course. Servants were terrible gossips, almost as bad as mages, and it was a particularly juicy story. Still, Jareth had never really believed the stories about Duchess Sandrilene and her foster-siblings. They were obviously close, but – well, Jareth simply hadn't considered that the more risque rumours might be true.

Until one afternoon when the Duchess rang for lemonade in the Roof Garden. The Roof Garden was the Duchess's refuge, maintained for her by Master Moss. It wasn't a full garden, just a collection of plants in clay pots, but it turned the roof into an oasis of green. Carefully trimmed hedges in large rectangular pots acted as windbreaks along the edges of the terrace, protecting the array of flowers in the centre. The Duchess had had a shadecloth erected over an array of outdoors furniture, and she spent much of her limited free time there, almost always with her foster family. The footmen hated the steep stairs that led to the Roof Garden, but they persevered for their Duchess. Jareth focused on that thought as he trudged up the stairs, balancing the tray with its full jug and glasses.

Lacking a free hand to knock with, he simply pushed the door to the roof open – and froze, too shocked to move or make a sound. The Duchess was sitting in the centre of one of the couches, head turned to the right to kiss Mistress Kisubo; from the sounds they were making, both women were enjoying themselves. Master Moss was sitting on the other side of the Duchess, looking away and wrinkling his nose at Mistress Chandler, who was sitting in a chair opposite the trio and laughing over the top of her book. Jareth had never seen the redheaded spitfire laughing. Moss dropped the expression, and turned to kiss the Duchess's exposed neck as she broke the kiss with Kisubo.

Jareth blinked in shock as the Duchess _giggled_, a girlish sound he would never have imagined coming from her. The Duchess never lost her composure, never raised her voice! But apparently she giggled.

"_Bri_-ar," the Duchess said in a sing-song voice. "Stop that."

"No," he said throatily, and bent to kiss her shoulder.

"This is adorable beyond words," Mistress Chandler drawled. "But we have an audience." The three on the couch turned to look at Jareth, as Chandler went back to her book. Jareth gathered his courage.

"Your lemonade, your eminence," he stammered, and walked over to set the tray on a low pine table. His legs were trembling. Sweet Lady Mila, they were going to kill him. The Duchess was going to wave her finger, and his clothes were going to strangle him. Jareth straightened, and waited for his fate.

"Thank you, Jareth," the Duchess said calmly. He risked a glance at her from under his lashes. She was leaning her head against Moss's, and didn't look embarrassed or enraged in the slightest. "You may go."

Jareth ran for the stairs, not daring to question his good fortune. He went to report to Maner, the deputy seneschal in charge of the footmen and other miscellaneous servants. Jareth ducked into Maner's small office, and opened his mouth to report his errand completed.

"Er, ah…" he said instead. Maner raised an eyebrow, and gave Jareth a long stare.

"Ah. Close the door, Jareth." The footman scurried to do so, then turned to face Maner again.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's just, I was…distracted, and it won't happen again."

Maner leaned back in his chair, and began to speak in formal tones. "Listen to me, Jareth. I'm going to tell you a story. One day, a footman rather like yourself was told to bring his Duchess a jug of lemonade. And that footman saw something that surprised him, even though all the rest of the keep knew about it already. And then that footman was deeply shocked, and didn't know what to do. But the footman's wise mentor told him to keep his mouth shut; the footman did, and everyone lived happily ever after." Maner frowned at Jareth. "I think that's a good story, Jareth. Don't you?"

"Y-yes," Jareth stuttered. "It does." He blinked. "Everyone else knew? I mean, in the – the story?"

"Yes," Maner said, letting out a gusty breath. "The footman didn't know because he was a clueless idiot." Maner dropped the formal tones. "Really, Jareth? Her eminence takes all her meals with them, their bedchambers are right next to each other, they always sit with her at the high table – did it really surprise you?"

"Well, no…it wasn't the idea that surprised me, it was the finding out." Jareth blushed, and lowered his voice. "But…all of them? With each other?"

"Why not? To be clear, Jareth," Maner said earnestly, "Even though everyone knows, I don't want you discussing what you saw, or what you think. It would only embarrass her eminence."

"Of course, sir," Jareth said quickly. "Of course."


End file.
